Falling Into The Abyss
by xkohleyesx
Summary: Each time, it was like the first, and each time, the old wounds, though long healed, flared to life... It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before..." A look into the unseen moments of 'Abyss' and Jack's torture at the hands of Ba'al.


[ Essentially, this is the story of 'Abyss', as we go beyond the few scenes shown in the episode. The small clips of writing are intentional to represent the disorientation and deterioration that Jack felt as he lived through the experience. Well, _hopefully_ it represents that :)

P.S. I don't own Stargate (duh); I'm simply borrowing its wonder for creative release.

Warnings: Torture is never pleasant…

- kohleyes ]

* * *

White-hot pain erupted through my chest as the acid seared holes through my clothes and, eventually, inevitably, my skin.

Not for the first time since this little involuntary rescue mission began, I cursed the existence of Kanan.

_Damn him and those damn Tok'ra snakes_!

Blinding, searing pain raced through my mind.

That's what they were too: _snakes_. All of 'em. Just lowly, parasitic, opportunistic _worms_. No better than the Goa'uld they claimed to hate.

_They may even be worse,_ I considered, wincing through the effort of forming coherent thoughts. _At least the Goa'uld didn't mask their intentions as "noble" and "symbiotic"; they take what they want and what they can't have, they destroy. _

_It's actually sort of pure in its simplicity…_

Another scorching droplet pulled my brain from dwelling on the insanity of such a thought.

Once more, my attention turned to my captor.

Ba'al.

I hated him with every fiber of my being, but I remained motionless, unable to act. There was nothing I could do. Just as before, all the choice I had was to keep my brain shut and my mouth closed.

_Give nothing away._

Blazing, burning flesh. My mind boiled as the acid seeped through the already-formed holes in my skin, slicing into my blood, my veins, and coursed its horrifying, destructive way towards my heart.

But damnit if I hated nothing more than the existence of that acid. _What had he called it?_ I frantically forced my mind to think, to remain conscious, alert. _Tal'vak, or something like that…_

Another drop drifted towards me, mocking me with its leisure, twisting in perception as it flew forward from Ba'al and landed on my already scorching body.

* * *

My words dripped with sarcasm as I spoke to the Snakehead, trying (with considerable effort, I now noticed) to maintain my air of casual aloofness.

A glint of metal and pain shot through my shoulder as the knife flew from Ba'al's hand and slammed into my shoulder.

I allowed the smallest of grunts to escape my lips.

"You have been here before." He informed me calmly, though he knew I already knew this. He'd already told me so countless times before.

"First time." My typical response.

He allows the second knife to fly.

* * *

The moments in between were the ones I hated the most, I think. That sickening time between waking up in the sarcophagus and the guards' faces appearing overhead. Waiting expectantly, never knowing when they'd show up, or how long I'd be conscious for. Or unconscious.

Okay, I take back what I said: Not knowing was much higher on my 'dislike' list.

Had I been at Ba'al's whim for a week? A month? Merely a few hours?

How long did I survive? Did the pain of dying actually last for the decades it felt like? Or did I simply give up easier and more quickly each time?

As I paced a worried path through my cell, I glanced towards where the ceiling should be, and, with the slightest of reliefs, noticed only the empty hallway above.

Wearily, I sighed. Maybe the wait _was_ the worst…

* * *

My vision blurred as sweat poured down my forehead, the effort to reveal nothing becoming almost too much to bear.

* * *

SG-1 was on its way, I was sure of it, could feel it deep in my very much aching bones. I just had to pull through for a few more hours, maybe a day or two.

Piece of cake.

After all, I'd survived through worse, right?

A rather large of drop acid struck my chest then, fire slowly rippling out from the spot, throbbing in time with the quickening beats of my heart. The blade in Ba'al's hand glistened menacingly then, catching my attention, his teeth flashing a stomach-churning grin. My own stomach plummeted in response.

_Right?

* * *

_

"Hi, Jack."

A pause.

Maybe I spoke his name. Maybe not. I wasn't sure of much anymore.

"I leave, and look at the mess you get yourself into…"

* * *

Each time, it was like the first, and each time, the old wounds, though long healed, flared to life.

It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before.

* * *

"Tell me, Tok'ra." Ba'al spoke, almost taunting, as he held aloft the bottle, the knife lying in wait on the table behind him.

"Don't." I pleaded. "I don't know anything."

"Pity." Though his eyes revealed it was everything but.

* * *

Rain drizzled around me. My eyes closed, I could hear as each drop pelted the ground.

Was I lying down?

Feeling around with my hand, I patted the surface my fingernails struck, the intricate stone design cool and slightly slick to the touch.

_Yep. Definitely lying down. _

Now, the question was why?

_Hmm…_

The rain continued to fall and for the first time, I noticed the sting in my fingertips.

_Now why on Earth would my fingers hurt like that?_

With that thought, my eyelids flew open and realization hit me like a freight train:

I wasn't _on_ Earth.

No.

My eyes flashed around the all too familiar room.

I was tucked away in some damned Goa'uld fortress being tortured over and over by some damned Snakehead named… named… God, what _was_ his name?

"I, Lord Ba'al, command that you tell me why you have returned to my empire."

_That's right. 'Bocce Ball'._ I glanced to the man in question, standing forebodingly on a platform, mere feet from me.

"My patience grows thin, O'Neill…" Ba'al warned in his wavering tones, raising an arm and the object it clutched.

With a puzzled look, I eyed the oddly pear-shaped bottle in his hand, an unexplainable feeling of dread coating my stomach.

As I watched the amber liquid slosh around inside, a second freight train hit me and with it, all of the painful acid burns seared to life throughout my body. The shock of such a forceful revelation pushed the air from my lungs, turning my scorching blood to ice. My mind began to slip then, again, back over the familiar edge into the welcoming abyss of unconsciousness.

As my eyelids slid shut once more, I watched as the Goa'uld's eyes flashed ominously, his hand gripping the bottle tighter, and I listened as the acid rained down, pattering softly as it struck, not the stone, but me.

* * *

Razor sharp, the blade pierced through skin.

My heart stopped.

* * *

"SPEAK!"

* * *

A glowing, brilliantly white light.

A halo of blonde hair.

Glistening blue eyes.

Beautiful smile.

_An angel…_

All faded before my weary eyes as the sound of stone scrapping across stone echoed through the small space, and two pairs of unnecessarily firm hands pulled me up.

* * *

I was back in my cell, but honestly, that's all I could tell you.

My body ached all over, but that didn't make sense. It trembled and shivered as though it were back on the ice planet, but that wasn't right either. Reaching up to push my hair from my forehead, I noticed a light sheen on my hand, a baffling sweat that apparently covered my entire body, despite the severe chill I felt.

Pushing myself from the floor, I stopped halfway standing and, with a sudden lurch, quickly emptied the contents of my stomach. And not for the first time it would seem, judging by the looks of the room around me, though I couldn't tell you when or why.

Flopping back to the ground, avoiding the mess, I rested my head in my heads, noticing for the first time the fierce migraine raging behind my eyes. Now where had that come from?

And as if out of nowhere, an inexplicable need rapidly pulled at my entire body. My ever cell wanted something, yearned for something, _craved_ _some __**thing**_, though what, I couldn't say.

It just didn't make sense…

* * *

"Daniel…"

* * *

pain

…

surrounding me

…

never-

ending

pain

* * *

"When are you going to end this?"

* * *

Dark, embracing abyss...

* * *

"You WILL tell me what I wish to know." A reverberating voice demanded through the haze.

…

… Where was I? …

…

… Who was talking to me? …

…

… What was going on? …

…

… **Why was I in so much pain?**

"Daddy."

Suddenly my mind was focused, my vision sharp on the figure seated on the floor before me. His short brunette hair glimmered softly in the flickering light of the candelabras. A wide smile played on his lips as he waved his arm boisterously in the way only children do.

"Hi, Daddy."

No.

It couldn't be.

It just wasn't possible.

"Tell me, O'Neill."

No!

He had to get away!

He had to hide, before he got hurt!

My eyes went wide as I tried to scream, but my mouth wouldn't comply with my mind.

"I really missed you, Daddy."

Tears began to well behind my eyes, forcing my eyelids to blink frantically to maintain my view.

"I feel like it's been FOREVER since we played baseball!"

"TELL ME!"

My stomach dropped. Somewhere, in the back of my muddled mind, I knew that tone was bad. Knew some_thing_ _bad_ was about to happen.

"Hey, Daddy, when can we go fishing again? I really miss the lake."

I wracked my brain for an answer, never taking my eyes off of the boy smiling sweetly at me, dreaming of casting and landing a fish thiiiis big.

"Huh, Daddy? Don't you miss the lake, too?"

"O'NEILL!"

"I know the mosquitoes are really annoying…" The boy's nose crinkled at the memory of hot, sticky summer nights, fingers racing across inflamed red bumps on his arms, legs, and neck. His little body began to rock back and forth as more memories filled his mind and he continued his attempts of persuading me to go to some cabin. "But we can have a campfire, and roast hot dogs, and make s'mores, and oh! Daddy! The stars! We can look up at the stars all night and you can tell me all the names of the 'consterllations'."

His brown eyes twinkled merrily.

"Remember? Like Orion and the Big and Little Dippers and umm… uuhmm… the Twins!"

Tears fell freely down my face now. I couldn't handle it anymore. There was so much agony and guilt wracking my body, and I couldn't remember _why_! All I could remember was that boy, sitting so happily and carefree between me and the bad voice, and the fact that he shouldn't be there.

"O'NEILL!"

The droplet fell and I felt it before I caught glimpse of its shimmering pearlescence drifting forwards. I watched as it made its agonizing passage, excruciatingly slow, while I frantically tried to call out to the boy. Tell him to move. To run. To do _anything_ but sit there, staring at me with that joyful, loving grin. But my voice remained stalled, unable to verbalize my urgency.

The drop hit with the smallest of sizzles.

I watched in horror as the boy's body lurched forward from the impact. His eyes- _my_ eyes- grew large, first in shock, then in pain. His mouth opened slightly. The tiniest of screams echoed through my mind, erupting from his small throat, as the acid burned a hole through his little body. Tears streamed down his face, leaking from his wide, accusing eyes, his arms reaching behind him, searching.

"Why, Daddy?" he sobbed quietly.

I sobbed with him, struggling with the invisible bonds holding me back, trying to free myself and run to grasp his now shaking frame.

Minutes passed before I finally gave up, wrists and ankles raw, limbs aching, and watched as the drop, still perfectly round and glowing a harsh golden yellow, reemerged through the other side of his body. The boy gasped only slightly as it hissed a half-inch hole through his chest, blood pouring from the wound.

He coughed only once, a small bead of red winding from the corner of his mouth. Slowly, his crimsoned body slumped to the floor in a nauseating sense of déjà vu, a heap of red cloth and limbs. His dark eyes, only moments ago filled with such life, now empty, still stared at me.

I screamed.

I knew I shouldn't have. Knew the image I was seeing had to be wrong. Fake. Knew again, somewhere in the back of my mind, that it was _not_ the right thing to do. That _at all costs_ I was not to scream. Not to reveal _anything_.

But I screamed, uncaring any longer. My vocal cords tore with the effort the sound made as my whole mind, body, and soul poured into that one moment. Pain flared to life in my throat and once more, in my chest, as the droplet continued to burn through my flesh, unyielding.

My eyelids slid closed then, my consciousness unable to bear the torture any longer, and my body unable to further stave off the shock of dying.

The dark abyss enveloped me once more and somewhere before me, the bad voice laughed.

* * *

"CHARLIE!"

The name ripped from my throat, my mind ripping from the horrifying nightmare. As the blind terror slowly ebbed, the image of my son's bloodied mass slowly cleared from my vision, disappearing bit by bit with every rapid blink of my eyes.

"S-sir?"

I started at the sound. My body unconsciously retreated from the foreign voice, pulling at the numerous things attached to me, my movement causing me, for the first time, to notice the sheets covering my legs, and the firm mattress on which I sat.

Looking around, I took in the grey walls – _Grey, not brown_ – and the cold light shining from the recessed lighting in the ceiling – _Not sconces_. My attention drew to the incessant, fluttering beeps emitting from somewhere to my left.

As I swept my gaze slowly across the room, quickly coming to realize that I was no longer in my cell, my eyes fell on the vision beside me.

I paused, taking in every aspect of the beauty sitting, fidgeting slightly, on a stool placed a few feet from my bed.

Though the white light was gone, I knew it was she.

Her halo of blonde stuck out oddly in places, as if she'd run her hands through it an innumerable amount of times; her baby blues no longer glistened, but burned darkly beneath a brow stitched with worry; and her brilliant smile didn't show, hidden instead behind a concerned frown splayed across her lips.

But it was she.

The angel.

_My angel._

Before I knew what I was doing, I had the angel in my arms, ignoring as tubes tugged at my skin, protesting the movement, and the small, feminine squeak of surprise.

She was real.

I could feel her reluctant but _solid_ muscles beneath my fingertips. When I breathed in deeply, I found myself pleasantly enveloped by the _vivid_ scent of metal, and paper, and something mildly sweet, something I knew to be blue and wiggly. Brushing a soft touch to her forehead with my lips, I tasted the _sharp_ _tang_ of salt on her skin. I _heard_ her breathing hitch, and I relished the next moment as small goosebumps erupted across her warm flesh. Eventually, her muscles loosened, eased, and her arms snaked gently around my waist, shyly returning my fierce embrace. Through her chest, pressed flush to mine, I felt the light murmur of her _heart_, thumping softly, sweetly, in time with the beeps filling the room.

_She was real._

Reaching out a tentative hand, never releasing my hold, I grazed my fingers across the source of the beeping, the heart monitor cool and smooth beneath my touch.

It was real.

Glancing around the room, I took in the sights of the now well-recognizable infirmary of Stargate Command. The curtains pulled partially closed around my bed fluttered lightly as a petite brunette woman emerged through them, approaching my bed, clipboard in hand. Lifting her head, her eyes widened at the embrace that met her gaze.

Switching arms, so now the opposite of before was holding the angel firmly to me, I reached out my newly freed hand to the recent arrival, pausing at arms length, waiting cautiously, expectantly. I watched as her wide eyes slowly softened, a new realization dawning behind her dark brown. Dropping the clipboard to her side, she took my proffered hand with her own.

"I'm real, Colonel…" She murmured, barely above a whisper, squeezing my hand gently, before letting it go. Sniffing softly, she stepped back through the curtains, the only proof she had been there at all being the slightly trembling cloth and the warmth I still felt in my palm.

A small sound escaped my lips and tears welled in my eyes. Slowly, my eyelids closed around them, allowing only a single drop to escape, wending my face and falling silently into the golden hair of the angel. She clutched me tightly, her soft voice whispering gentle reassurances into my ear.

Nuzzling my face into her warm neck, I knew she was right.

I was…

"Home."

* * *

[ Definitely some parts I like more than others, but I think it's an interesting, if not gripping story… Tell me what you think… Go on. Click the little button… You know you want to… :) ]


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